The Christmas Throwaway (8 page)

"About what exactly? I told you I feel fine."

"Ben said you have wounds on your back. Could I just check them out?"

Zach sat open mouthed. He had shown those to Ben

in confidence, and for his new friend to betray that confidence made him want to curl in a corner and hide.

"No!" he spat out quickly, shuffling away.

"Zach, no, listen to me. Ben is an officer of the law, and at the end of the day, he has a duty of care… and I am the doctor assigned to your case."

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"I have a case?"

"Underage runaway living on the street? Yes, you are a case, at least until tomorrow, and I just say again, if some of the wounds on your back are not healing properly, possibly a course of antibiotics would help. Or it may be that you will need to go to hospital, have them opened up and drained, possibly debrided."

Zach just stared. The pain in his back had been

getting worse, not better, he admitted to himself. And she was a doctor —and she seemed nice— and her husband did give over his fugly sweaters. Despite years of family secrecy ingrained at the end of a belt, maybe today would be a good day to accept some help? He could always run if she tried to make him do something he didn't want to, or if Ben tried to make him stay when he didn't want to.

Running was easy.

"They may come back in," he finally said, looking to the door nervously.

"They won't; not until I tell them it's okay." She crossed to the drapes at the window, ready to pull them if he said yes.

"All right," he finally said, standing and slipping off the sweater, listening to her pull the curtains, giving him privacy, and then unbuttoning his shirt and pulling his arms 84

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through the sleeves until he stood in the front room in just a Cowboys T-shirt and his jeans. Turning away from her, he took a deep breath and begun to lift the tee, waiting for her to say something. She said nothing, only tracing some of the healing scars and examining some that hadn't healed yet. He knew that one particularly bad one trailed from the middle of his spine and down past the waistband of his jeans, and she asked carefully if he could drop his jeans off his hips, which he did with some hesitation. One of the open weeping wounds went across one cheek and finished in the center, angry, raw, raised, the skin pink and pinched around the edges. He had seen it in the mirror and felt it when it wept. It made his jeans and shirts pull and stick.

"Zach, one of the wounds here, it's not nice, so I need to treat that and then dose you with antibiotics. I think you will be okay with that. The skin has semi closed, but it has trapped infection."

"Uh huh." His voice was quiet, distressed. "There may be…" How was he going to explain?

"May be what?"

"Splinters. There may be splinters from the stick…"

He shrugged. He wasn't an expert; he didn't know. Melanie didn't say a thing, in fact she was very quiet, and then he sensed her crossing to her bag, which he now realized was 85

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a medical bag. When she turned back to him, he could see tears in her eyes, and it made him sad.

"It's okay," he said softly, reaching out to touch her arm. "It's happened before. I always get better eventually."

He was startled as she raised her hand to touch his cheek, and he flinched away before he could catch himself.

"Sorry," he said quickly, trying to make himself stand still as she traced the bruises and marks around his face.

"How long has it been, Zach?"

"Two weeks," he answered immediately.

"No, I meant since the last time you were beaten, on your face?"

Despair built in the pit of his stomach. How could he even start to explain that one? That it was daily, that it was more than he could take sometimes? That sometimes he cried, and that when he did cry, he just made it worse for himself? "A week, nearly two," he finally answered. "The day I left."

"Can I take some photos?" she asked cautiously.

"Why?"

"For evidence, Zach. Evidence against whoever did this to you."

"No." Zach was adamant. He just wanted to forget it all. It was only him it happened to. His dad didn't hit 86

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Rebecca, and there was no point to it…

"Zach, as your doctor, I must point out that, days, weeks, maybe even months ahead, when the physical wounds have healed, you will want to face what happened to you. Having photos will help. As someone who wants to be your friend, please let me do this."

Zach was suspicious, his thoughts tangled up in

never and maybe, and he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in concentration.

"He won't do this to anyone else. He never hit Rebecca, my little sister, not ever." His words were defined and clear. It was what he believed, and he wouldn't be moved on it.

"Okay."

"She wasn't a disappointment to him."
Wasn't a
faggot like her brother, weak, useless, unnatural.

"What if that changed? What if she grows up and finds a boy from the wrong side of town? Or a girl, even?

What if she becomes something your dad doesn't want in the family?"

Shit, he couldn't even contemplate that. She was

much smaller than Zach, so tiny, and so very much younger, and innocent. She wouldn't last as long as Zach did, not physically or mentally. He wriggled

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uncomfortably, a sudden need to be with her knifing at him, immediately dismissed by the memories of the fear he had brought to his house just by being gay. As long as he stayed away, she would be fine; he was convinced of that. He had to be.

Now, to open himself up to the hurt of accusing his father, what was that going to solve? He didn't know what to decide, standing, waiting, thinking.

"Okay," he finally said, turning his back to her.

Then making the decision that it was all or nothing, he dropped his jeans past his hip bones and to mid-thigh, so she could get photos of all the scars. Marks that crossed and lined from neck to thigh and from throat to stomach, some faded to almost nothing, some raised and raw, all of them vicious-looking.

"Most of these will disappear with the right treatment," she murmured, taking the digital photos as quickly as she could. He saw her wince, felt sorry for her, thinking that it must be awful having to deal with the pain of other people and yet have to remain detached.

"Zach, could you lie down so I can dress your wounds?" Zach did as he was told, laying himself carefully on the sofa, as much as his long frame would allow, and bit his lip in concentration as her firm and knowing hands 88

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began to gently explore the pain in his lower back. "I'm going to numb the area, have a look for debris. I'm going to have to open it up and drain it, remove the infected flesh and splinters. I would rather be doing this in hospital."

"No hospital," Zach responded instantly.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't worry, I'll be fine."

She used Donna's magnifying glass to check

closely. "I should really be doing this at the surgery," she muttered, and Zach winced again as the needle scratched his skin.

"Can you tell me?"
Tell me what you are doing.

"I'm cutting open the wound and draining any fluid there, then I will be using thin tweezers to pull out any slivers in your back," she offered carefully.

"Is there much?" He heard the camera click as she was obviously cataloguing each stage.

"Not enough to worry, Zach. I'm just going to apply some antibiotic and bandage the area."

She finished and helped him to stand and then

waited as he pulled up jeans.

"Thank you," he said, unable to put into words all his gratitude for the care she had given him.

She nodded a
you're welcome
. "You're going be 89

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sore a bit later when the local wears off. If you need them, take some acetaminophen. Are you allergic to anything?

No? These antibiotics are sample packs, but they'll do the trick. Five hundred milligrams; four times a day." She handed him five cardboard sample packs and stood back.

"I'll file the photos with the police department as a closed record, Zach. That doesn't mean the police won't see them, if there is a need." By police, Zach assumed she meant Ben, and he shuddered inwardly. Great.

"I understand. Thank you, Doctor."

"Melanie is fine. Now, let's clear this up and get the rest in here. It's Christmas, and since I can't drink when I am on duty, I am in serious need of thrashing you and the boys at Trivial Pursuit."

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Ben raised his eyebrows and looked at Mark.

Together, Zach and Melanie, as a team, were wiping the floor with them. Zach seemed to know something about everything. The only questions he wasn't so hot on were about entertainment, but Melanie covered that area with ease. They had the six slices, and were sitting on the center waiting for the final question. With bent heads, Ben and Mark decided on geography; Ben smirking, Mark looking confident. Other than entertainment, geography was the subject in which Zach seemed most hesitant.

"What two countries do Tyroleans come from?"

Ben read from the card.

Zach smiled at Melanie who just grinned back.

"Austria and Italy," they chorused, and then proceeded to whoop loudly. Zach winced at the movement involved in jumping off his seat. Ben stared at his and Mark's one slice, and then at the laughing Zach and then at Mark, his eyes narrowing.

"I demand a rematch," he said, and frowned when Melanie and Zach kept laughing, wondering why it was so damn funny.

"Your face," Zach wheezed, sliding back into his 91

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chair, "we so own you!"

Ben grinned sheepishly, very aware that yes, with Melanie and Zach's combined brains, they really did own Mark and Ben.

"How about Mouse Trap instead?" Mark interrupted the laughing, looking a little hurt, "I can do that…"

* * * *

"Your friends are nice," Zach said softly into the semi-darkness of the hall as they waved Mark and Melanie away and into the snow. It was eleven-fifty. Ben was off duty officially from midnight, and Zach was ten minutes away from legal freedom. It felt like Christmas Eve all over again.

"Yeah, Mark is a good guy to have at your back."

"I am guessing you and Mark have been friends a long time?" Ben heard sadness in Zach's voice, and it made him wonder just how lonely the boy had been. He didn't want the minutes leading up to his eighteenth to be sad, so he set about lightening the tone.

"Friends since I was really small, and I mean since he was shorter than me, which, believe me, is a long time ago."

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"I like Melanie. She looked at my back. She's a good doctor." Ben touched a hand to Zach's shoulder and squeezed gently.

"I know," was all he said. How could he even begin to say anything else when he had taken one look at Melanie's ashen face and guessed that what she had seen wasn't good? He had wanted to see the photos, but Melanie had made him promise not to look until he was back at his desk as a cop, and not as the friend Zach needed. For his part, Zach seemed to want to gloss over it all and instead changed the subject away from his injuries.

"They have kids as well?"

"Hmmm, just one, Annabelle. She is so gorgeous and my goddaughter."

"A goddaughter? They trusted you with that?" Zach said, tongue in cheek, causing Ben to fake-punch his arm with a muttered
"ass"
.

Ben locked the door, tidied up the living room,

arranged cushions, and washed up the mugs and glasses.

He poured water in the coffee maker, filled the basket and then waited for it to brew. When he'd tidied up the coffee he'd spilled because of his nerves, he looked at the clock.

23:58. Zach had followed him in all of this, like a puppy waiting to be told to go to bed, all floppy blond hair and 93

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earnest blue eyes. Finally Ben couldn't avoid it any further, watching as the clock moved to 23:59, aware of every breath he was taking.

He watched as Zach just stood in the doorway, still with the puppy eyes, and talking about something, about Mark and his brother both having children, about being good parents, something like that, and Ben was trying to listen. Really he was. When the clock showed 12:00, he drew Zach into his arms for a gentle hug.

"Happy birthday, Zach."

* * * *

The clock showed 01:34 when Zach finally climbed

into bed, snuggling, really snuggling, under the thick covers, leaving the drapes open to the wintry night. It was snowing and cold, ice marking the glass with beautiful crystal trails. He was inside, he was warm, he didn't feel hungry and, most of all, he was free. Free to be him, free to be gay. He was eighteen, and he had the whole of the rest of his life in front of him.

If he had nagging doubts about Rebecca, about what was happening now that he had left, he tried not to focus on them. He didn't think for one minute his dad would hurt 94

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her; she was his princess. Still, he needed to talk to someone tomorrow, someone to maybe contact her or do something, anything.

Ben would help.

* * * *

It was last minute, and as things like this often were, it was casual and fun and chaotic and loud and just damned perfect. Ben started the singing with
'Happy Birthday,
Zach'
, smirking when Donna harmonized, and they ended up hugging Zach from both sides. Jamie still held back, but at least he had a half smile on his face. Mark and Melanie arrived, Annabelle in a dress that Zach proclaimed beautiful and with a present in her hands, Zach's very own copy of Mouse Trap. Donna had banned all boys from the kitchen, finally bringing in an iced cake with a red 18